Scissors
by Windborn
Summary: "Zelos? Hey, have you seen the- Oh..." Sheena discovers Zelos in no condition to attend the United World Anniversary Ball, and realizes she may just have been misjudging him for years.


**Scissors**

Sheena pulled the dress down over her head, tugging the soft, lilac silk into place and buttoning the knotted closures at her left shoulder. White and silver embroidery accented the bodice and cascaded over her right hip, trailing into a burst of flowers at the highest point of the asymmetrical hemline.

This was much, _much_ more pleasant than her last foray into the world of formal wear and balls.

Turning, she inspected the back. A high collar buttoned at the nape of her neck, then opened to a low, scooped back-startling, given the modest front and capped sleeves. Two fine chains hung from the collar, the longest almost to the center of her back, each ending in a pale, sparkling stone. They tickled as she moved.

Something brushed the backs of her knees, making her squeak in surprise. She peered at the mirror, turning slowly, and finally found a long, white thread dangling from the hem.

"Nothing's perfect, I guess." Sheena padded barefoot through Zelos's mansion looking for his butler.

She found Sebastian in the dining room, surrounded by neat stacks of paper. Apparently he intended to take advantage of the Chosen's impending absence and the opportunity to get his accounts in order without interruption.

As she approached, he raised his head, smiling warmly. "Miss Fujibayashi. You look radiant. I'm pleased to see the master's taste in clothing has improved."

Not as pleased as she was. Did he have to remind her? "Th-thanks . . ."

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"Do? No, I just need a pair of scissors."

"Ah. My apologies, but Master Zelos came down for them a short while ago. I assume he still has them."

"Oh?" His personal tailors had outdone themselves, leaving loose strings even on the Chosen's clothing. "Guess I'll go ask him, then. Thanks, Sebastian."

"You're quite welcome, my dear."

She returned upstairs and took the hall leading away from the guest wing, into the Chosen's private rooms. Not many ever saw this part of the mansion, just as few ever got a peek behind his flippant mask. Even when he still regularly entertained women, more often than not, he would meet them in the guest wing.

Old habits died hard, though. Zelos had worn the mask so long, certain aspects of his persona had become ingrained, and Sheena tended to still expect the worst of him. But when he'd offered to escort her to the Five Year United World Anniversary Ball, she'd cautiously agreed. He deserved the benefit of the doubt, at least.

A narrow band of light cut across the hall from a slightly open door. Sheena nudged it wide, hoping he was decent. "Zelos? Hey, have you seen the . . ." She swallowed the question, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. " _Oh._ "

Tethe'alla's Chosen sat on his knees in the middle of his study, one limp hand still twisted into the loops of the scissors lying next to him. He turned as she spoke, looking up at her, wide-eyed, through the irregular curtain of his brilliant red hair. Wisps and clumps, some as long as her forearms, pooled around his legs or hung where they had snagged on the buttons and embroidery of his suit coat.

"Sheena-" His voice cracked, startling a bit more awareness into his dazed blue eyes. "I can't- I think we're going to be a little late."

"Oh, Zelos . . ." She picked her way across the room and crouched in front of him. "What-" It was unnerving, talking through that tattered curtain. She gently smoothed his hair away from his face. "What are you doing?"

Whatever had prompted the drastic attack on his hair, he was distressed enough that needling her about the obvious answer to that question didn't seem to occur to him. "Something needed to change." He sighed deeply, looking down at the scissors. "I can't do this anymore-can't _be_ this, the Chosen my father was. No matter how I try, it's been so long . . . Everyone thinks they know me. I'm so used to making myself what they expect . . ." He hesitated, then added, very softly. "And you. You deserve better than that."

"So, of course, the next logical step is to ruin your hair." She spoke lightly, but her heart twisted, pained and fluttering all at once.

He wrinkled his nose, losing the last of that trapped-rabbit look. Thank the spirits. "I wasn't expecting cutting it to be so difficult."

And what he'd begun in frustration had ended in desolate panic.

But what now? He couldn't go to the palace like this-although it would certainly have the desired effect of making everyone question exactly who their precious Chosen really was. She almost suggested staying here. Almost. But that would have been too much like running away, for both of them.

"Take your jacket off, and give me the scissors." When he didn't immediately comply, she tugged the scissors from his unresisting fingers. "Jacket. Off."

Zelos didn't even comment on her demanding he remove clothing. Mutely, he shrugged out of the coat and handed it over.

And with nothing more than his silence, she realized she'd been doing the same damn thing as everyone else-forcing expectations on him, seeing the mask and not the man, until he could do nothing but bend. She hid a sudden, intense rush of shame behind attempting to brush the loose hair from the folds of his coat.

His suit had been designed to subtly match her dress. The jacket and trousers were mostly a very dark grey, accented with a shade of lilac that both matched the dress and was strong enough not to be washed out by his vibrant hair, and the buttons were elegant black knotwork shot through with silver. Scrollwork embroidery edged the collar and cuffs of his white dress shirt, mimicking the patterns on the dress.

And faint trails of red stuck to _everything_.

"Bring a chair over, would you? We might as well do this right."

"What do you know about cutting hair?" he asked, more curious than challenging, as he finally got to his feet and starting shaking his trousers free of their extra accents. After a few moments, he gave up, dragging his desk chair into the middle of the room.

"More than you do. Enough to fix your mess, anyway." She couldn't even decide how he looked beneath the chaos of his hair. Firmly, she pushed him into the chair. "Thank goodness you didn't go too short. Do you have a comb?"

He fished one out of a pocket and handed it to her.

"Thanks. Well, we are definitely going to be late."

Trimming his hair to an even shoulder length didn't take terribly long, though she kept getting distracted by its waterfall texture and the rich, lightning-and-cinnamon scent of him. When she finished, she pulled it back into a low, short tail, tugging a few naturally shorter locks free to frame his face. Getting the cut strands off their clothing took far longer. When they were both clear of the worst of it, Sheena returned his jacket and stepped back to examine her work.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. He looked several years older, like a nobleman, for once, rather than a playboy. He reminded her a bit of Regal, in the way he held himself, confidant and calm and . . . gracious. The arrogance, the condescension, she was accustomed to seeing-and ignoring-when had they faded? How long had she failed to notice their absence, simply because she assumed they were there?

"Wow," she managed at last.

Zelos glanced up from his buttons with a quick, curious smile. "You think?"

She swallowed hard, still struggling to find her voice. "It suits you."

"Good." He lightly kissed her cheek. "You, my dear, are a lifesaver. A very lovely lifesaver, I might add." Stepping back, he took a moment to look her over, and for once, she didn't feel like she wanted to bolt like a hare at the scrutiny. "Damn, Sheena. Where _did_ you find such a fabulous dress?"

"Isn't it nice?" Feeling giddy, and a little foolish, she spun a quick turn to let him see the back. "It was a gift from a friend with excellent taste."

The smile that answered that compliment could have outshone the sun.

Bowing, he extended his arm. "Since we're already well beyond fashionably late-shall we?"

Sheena tucked her hand around his elbow and let him lead the way while she tried to sort out her thoughts. "Don't you even want to look at it?" she asked, as they detoured to collect her shoes.

"My hair? I trust you."

She would not feel guilty about misjudging him. Yes, she had done him a disservice, believing more in his masks than in him, and failing to notice when the truth bled though. But his actions were his own, and how he responded to what others expected of him was his own responsibility. Guilt changed nothing. All she could do now was try to break the old habits, just as he was.

A breeze kicked up as they neared the palace, and something brushed the backs of Sheena's legs, making her jump. "What- Oh, blast it. I never trimmed that string!"

Zelos laughed, pulling her closer. "So that's what prompted your rescue, eh? You were looking for the scissors."

"Yeah." She craned her neck to see how badly it showed.

Still chuckling, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. His breath on her skin made her head swim. "I promise you, no one will be looking at the string."

Hesitantly, Sheena ran her fingers over the curl of Zelos's drastically shortened ponytail. His good humor was infectious. "No," she said. Smiling, she tucked her arm more firmly around his. "No, they probably won't."


End file.
